


There Is No Harbor Here

by saliache



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Celebrimbor lives, Gen, Not Canon Compliant, asshole Numenor, because assaulting the local equivalent of gods was never going to be a good idea, good life decisions, immensely snarky Annatar, moderately sensible Ar-Pharazon, you asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-09 22:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saliache/pseuds/saliache
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Annatar does not betray the elves. Numenor arises in might.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Is No Harbor Here

Celebrimbor curled himself into thick, warm fur. Annatar had taken the form of a great red wolf again today, and had occupied the choice spot beside the great fire. This winter was a fierce one, and much of Eregion lay under several feet of snow already.

 “We received envoys from Numenor today,” he murmured. “Barely made it into the city before the snowfall. They’re holed up in the Fifth District until the passes clear in the spring, and in the mean time we’re stuck with them. And I do mean stuck with them, Annatar. They’ve always been bold, but now… Did you know the emissary actually had the audacity to bypass Gil-galad’s authority and attempt to demand tribute directly from us?”

  _Hmmph_ , Annatar whuffed quietly.  _As if any could demand tribute from_ us.

 “Quite right,” Celebrimbor snorted, fiddling with his ring. “I almost sent him – and his retinue, slavering sycophants they are! – packing, snow or not, but I rather thought you might wish to put in a few words of your own.”

  _For the descendants of Melian they seem terribly un-Maialike._

 “I believe they are jealous.” The thought that even the descendants of the great Elros Tar-Minyatur could be found wanting was strangely cheering. “Although I suspect that in their position you might once have had similar… inclinations.”

  _Nonsense. I would never be so crass about it. It is terribly undignified._

 No, it was more likely Gorthaur the Cruel would simply have merrily had the entire band eaten by werewolves. Repentant or not, reformed or not, the Maia almost never mentioned his time as Morgoth’s lieutenant, and for good reason. The First Age was still a sore point and, Celebrimbor suspected, always would be. He changed the subject.

 “You could always sing to them,” he muttered grumpily. The envoys had been particularly insistent, showing up in unexpected places and interrupting his work, and he did not want to think of the possibility of an entire winter full of interruptions. “Something appropriately Valarin. Show them the true power of the lords of Ost-in-Edhil.”

  _Make their brains dribble out their ears, you mean?_

 “I would never be so crass as to put it that way,” he replied blandly. Annatar rolled over half onto his belly, whining softly, and Celebrimbor scowled as he slid down to the floor. In the space of a heartbeat the wolf became a man with long, dark hair.

 “Ah, but you meant it, and sincerely, too,” the Maia laughed. “It seems you have more of your grandfather’s spirit-”

 “Finish that thought and I will kick you,” Celebrimbor responded loftily. Annatar rolled to his feet and extended a helping hand.

 “Shall we go see to the Numenoreans, then?” 


End file.
